


the name

by notimeforemotion



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Origin Story, friends i don't even know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 04:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notimeforemotion/pseuds/notimeforemotion
Summary: He is four years old, and his father is swinging him around in a circle and calling him, “Commander Ben.”(the many names of kylo ren)





	the name

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this as a character study for a friend for Christmas last year, deciding to throw it out on the internet in the event even one of you appreciate it, too.

_Feels like we're on the edge right now_

_I wish that I could say I'm proud_

_I'm sorry that I let you down_

_Let you down_

_All these voices in my head get loud_

_I wish that I could shut them out_

_I'm sorry that I let you down_

_Let you down _

(“Let You Down” – NF)

-

He is four years old, and his father is swinging him around in a circle and calling him, “Commander Ben.”

Ben’s not too sure that he wants to be a Commander, but he doesn’t mind so long as he’s flying. He sees the men that his mama works with, pilots and leaders and generals, the ones who have shadows on their faces from memories of a time before he was born. He doesn’t want to be a Commander if he ends up like those men and women, if it means that he’ll always be running from something.

If it means that he’ll always be haunted by something that he’ll never be able to let go of.

He just wants to make his mama proud, and he loves seeing his dad smile. Lives for these moments, when his mama is locked away in meeting after meeting and he has his dad all to himself. Who needs the Falcon when he has his father’s hands, sure and steady, holding him up?

His dad swings him into the air, and at the height of the arc he lets go. Ben barely has time to yelp as he drops before those hands swoop underneath him, bringing him out of his fall, catching him. “Commander Ben’s a bit of a risky pilot, isn’t he?” his dad muses, doing another circuit of the balcony.

Ben wildly shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “Nuh uh.”

“Mhm.”

“‘m not risky,” Ben says. “‘m like Mama!”

His dad snorts. “You think your mama doesn’t take risks?”

“She’s perfect,” Ben says. “She always has the perfect plan.”

His flight is interrupted for a second as his dad stalls, turning Ben so that he’s resting on one of his hips. Ben doesn’t clutch at him because he’s not a baby anymore—he knows his dad will hold him up. He knows he’ll never let him go.

His dad looks down at him with warm eyes and a hint of a smile. “So you want to be like your mama?”

Ben starts to nod, but it turns into a head shake at the last second. His dad quirks a brow at him, and Ben says, “I wanna be like both of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ben says. His dad readjusts his grip, preparing to take him flying again, but before he can Ben says, “I wanna be perfect like Mama, but I don’t want to be a Commander.”

“You don’t?”

“No. That’s boring. I wanna be a pilot like you.”

His dad’s eyes widen, like he’s not sure what to do with the information, but the shock is quickly buried somewhere, covered by his dad’s regular smile. And Ben—Ben loves his mama, okay? He’d do anything for his mama. But he loves his dad, too, and he sees the look that his dad gets when he doesn’t think anybody is paying attention.

He doesn’t know what that look means, but he sees.

“Alright, then, Ben Solo,” his dad says, voice a little rougher than it was moments ago. “Where would you like to go next?”

And they’re off again.

-

He’s seven, crouched a corner with his knees drawn to his chest and his head buried in his arms, and a heavy hand falls on his shoulder. “Benny,” his dad says softly, and Ben rips away from the contact.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, sniffling, and if his dad can hear him through the shield of his arms then it’ll be a miracle.

His dad must, though. He sighs. “Ben, I won’t be gone for too long.”

“And then you’ll be back, and then you’ll leave again.”

No answer for a long moment, long enough that Ben tilts his head so that he can observe with one peering eye. His dad is kneeling on the floor beside him, frowning at the wall, eyes far away. “You always leave,” Ben whispers. 

Some days, he doesn’t think his dad comes all the way back before he’s off again, flying through the stars. Being the pilot that Ben always wanted to be, except if it means that he leaves his family behind he’s not even sure he wants to be that kind of a pilot, either. His mama is away doing important things so often, and his dad keeps going too, and Ben has no idea where he fits.

His dad still hasn’t said anything. Ben takes a shuddering breath, burying his head back into his arms, and says, “Why do you keep leaving? Is it my fault? I’ll be better—” 

“_No_,” his dad interrupts, and when Ben sneaks a look at him he looks shocked that Ben could even think it. He keeps a wary eye on the hand that his dad extends again, but he doesn’t pull away when it falls on his shoulder. “Ben, this isn’t your fault. I just—I need to work, too.”

“You didn’t used to need to work,” Ben mutters, bitterness pulling his mouth into a frown. A thumb rubs his shoulder, trying to reassure him.

“I know,” his dad says. “But that was then.” 

“What changed?”

Silence, before, “I love you, Ben. You know that, right?”

Ben shrugs, doesn’t reply. The door to his room opens and Chewie trills, ready to go. His dad kisses him on the top of his head, lingering, before he says, “I’ll see you later, Ben, okay?”

Ben doesn’t move. His dad slowly stands, waiting for Ben to move, but Ben stays completely still as he makes his way to the door. He has a quiet conversation with Chewie, one that Ben isn’t close enough to understand, and after another beat the door to his room shuts behind them. Ben slowly raises his head, resting his chin on his knees, and he hugs them tight to his chest before he realizes _his dad said goodbye and he didn’t say it back and what if he doesn’t come back or what if something happens or_—

He springs to his feet, tripping over himself in his haste to get to the door. It opens too slowly, and when he’s out in the hallway he shouts, “Dad!” with tears running down his cheeks but his dad is too far away.

Too far gone.

-

His friends—for as much as they can be considered _friends_, they’re more _children of people that work with my mom_—whisper about his uncle when they think he can’t hear.

He’s the one that felled Vader, that brought balance back to the Force, the one that saved the galaxy from tyranny and injustice and destruction. His uncle is the last Jedi, but he isn’t fond of the fame. If anything, he’s reclusive, sticking to the shadows. He doesn’t want people to celebrate him—Uncle Luke is humble like that. He did what had to be done, and he lost a hand and his privacy in the process.

Uncle Luke’s visits can never be predicted, and they can never be timed. He gives them no warning beforehand, and he leaves just as quietly, a ship in the night.

That doesn’t mean that, whenever he visits, Ben just _knows_ before he can see him.

He doesn’t know how he can, just that he can. That he’ll walk into their condo after he spends the day with his tutors and he gets this _feeling_. This recognition that things aren’t the same as they were when they left that morning, that there is someone different here. Ben’s dad has been gone for over two weeks—again—when the feeling hits him, and he’s not fast enough to turn before his Uncle Luke wraps him in a hug.

“Almost,” his uncle says, like he knows the feeling. “Not fast enough, though.” 

“I’ll surprise you one of these days,” Ben says, breaking out of his hold and putting his bag down before he can hug him proper. It’s not the same as his mom hugs, or his dad, but it’s different.

It’s almost better. Like his uncle wants the hugs just as much as he does, every single time.

“One day,” his uncle agrees, indulging him in his hug before ruffling his hair and stepping back. “Is your mother home?”

Ben shrugs, pursing his lips a little bit. “She’s at work.” It’s pretty much the state of things now, especially that he’s old enough to look after himself once his lessons are done for the day. Ben thinks he should mind the solitude more, but he’s gotten used to the state of things. Besides, if he’s alone, then there’s no one else around arguing.

His uncle tilts his head at him, but Ben can’t read the expression on his face one bit. “Your dad?”

His dad is gone more often than he’s home these days. Ben tries not to think about it, because if he thinks about it then he thinks about _why_ he’s gone and he doesn’t want to think about it, not if Ben isn’t a strong enough reason to stay. Ben doesn’t need his dad to need him, but he’d like for his dad to at least _want _him.

And some days, when the lights are off and he’s curled up under his blankets as he ignores the pang of missing his dad, he wonders about what he should’ve done to make him want to stay.

“Ben?”

Ben shakes his head, straightening his shoulders back a little bit. His Uncle Luke is here, and that’s better than nothing. “Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s alright,” his uncle replies, waving a hand and forgiving him. He makes it look easy, like loving Ben is no hardship. Despite the ease, there’s a battle waging on his uncle’s face before he says, “Ben, there’s actually something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Ben’s brow furrows. “Is it something that my parents need to be here for?”

“It’d be nice if they were,” his uncle mutters, almost like a complaint, and Ben wonders if maybe they were _supposed_ to be. “They wanted me to talk to you about something.”

_Talking to him about something_ has never gone well, at least not in Ben’s memory. _Talking to him about something_ always looks like apologies or excuses or saying that someone has to leave again or work late. _Talking to him about something_ always results in Ben being left behind. 

So apprehension curls through him, immediately, but there’s a cautious glint to his uncle’s eye that suggests that this might be a different kind of talking to.

Ben desperately hopes it’s a different kind of talking to.

His uncle works his jaw, then gestures him towards the couches in the sitting room. Ben sits at one end and his uncle sits at the other and it all feels very official. Different. This isn’t his uncle here for a casual visit, this is his uncle here for business. That has to do with Ben. 

He puffs his chest out a little bit without meaning to. His uncle notices and smiles and it’s enough to drain a little bit of the tension. 

“Ben,” he says, “have you ever had this…feeling?”

Ben’s heart leaps, but he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. “Feeling?”

“Yes. You might notice it when your mom is around, or whenever I come. Perhaps when you’re alone and you have nothing else to focus on.” His uncle pauses for a second, expression twisting, before he says, “Maybe whenever you’re feeling strongly, and there’s something that you feel you can just _push_.” 

Ben fidgets, glancing away, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. He hadn’t told anybody about that last part. Not that he’s told many people about this at all. His uncle senses his hesitation, because he says, “Ben, you won’t get into trouble. You’re not in trouble.”

There’s a part of him that still says he _might_ be, but it’s enough to get him to talk. “Yeah,” Ben whispers. “Sometimes.”

His uncle reaches across to squeeze his shoulder. “That’s called the Force.” 

Ben’s eyes snap up to his uncle’s face, widening in shock. “_That’s_ the Force?”

“It is,” his uncle tells him, glint in his eye. “And I—well, your mother wants me to train you to control it. To use it.” 

Ben’s eyes widen, and he—he can’t believe it. He says, voice barely louder than a whisper, “You want me to be a _Jedi_?”

His uncle’s smile grows, eyes glinting and not as far off. “You have the ability to be one,” he says. “You just have to learn. And so long as you are willing to learn—”

“I am,” Ben blurts. He wants to learn, he wants to explore, he wants to mean something. 

“Then I’ll make arrangements with your mother, shall I?”

Ben is twelve, and he is called _padawan_.

-

Being a padawan is not easy. Ben knew that would always be the case, but what he hadn’t been prepared for is how…ridiculous it is, sometimes. His uncle has them do things that Ben doesn’t think has anything to do with the Force, and he doesn’t tell them his justification for why he’s getting them to do it at all.

After five years of this, it’s frustrating, but at least Ben and the rest of this class have lightsabers to show for it. That’s another thing—there’s a ‘rest of his class’. There’s a _them_. Ben’s not the special one, he’s one in a group of special people, and he doesn’t just get his uncle to himself anymore. He gets his Uncle Luke _less_. Whenever he asks him about it, before they go to bed, his uncle mutters something about avoiding favouritism before scarpering away, like he’s forgotten how to deal with confrontation.

When he calls home, he’s lucky if he catches his mother in between meetings. His father is never there.

Ben’s surrounded by people, but he still feels lonely.

He should be used to the loneliness by now. It’s been the theme of his entire life, hasn’t it? His mother loves him but is too busy, his father loves him but left, his friends loved him for the status, and his uncle loves him for his promise.

Well, at least, Ben thought that they loved him, but now he’s not so sure.

He only truly feels like he fits somewhere when his lightsaber is in his hand, practicing positions. Or when they’re duelling, and he—he loses himself a little bit, in the movement and the actions and the mindlessness of it all. He trusts his body, knows what it can do, and with time he trusts what it can do with the Force, too.

There’s still no purpose, though. He trains and he trains and he has these tentative connections with his fellow Padawan but his Uncle Luke doesn’t seem to know what he’s training them _towards_. He wants them to learn how to use and channel their powers, but beyond that—Ben doesn’t know why he’s here. Is his mother planning on starting the Jedi order again? Will they be some sort of a special force, called upon only when needed? Sequestered away when they’re not? 

Ben doesn’t like the thought. It keeps him up, twisting and turning in his blankets, most nights. One night he finds himself thinking, _I just want a place where I belong, where I won’t have to be hidden_, and something outside of himself answers him.

**You shouldn’t have to be hidden.**

It’s enough to make Ben pause as a cold sweat breaks out over his skin, because he _knows_ that wasn’t him. That wasn’t his thought, that wasn’t his voice. That was—something else, something outside of him that has access to the inside of his _mind_— 

Ben tries to keep his breaths steady as he thinks. _Who are you?_

**Someone who sees your worth.**

_This is a dream_.

**Darth Vader felt the same way you did, Young Skywalker.**

_I’m not a Skywalker. I’m a Solo._

**You are both.**

He feels like he’s neither. A wrong feeling twists up inside him as he entertains this—whatever it is. Maybe he should go and tell his Uncle.

**I see you, Ben. But that name doesn’t fit quite right on your shoulders, does it?**

Ben turns so that he’s facing the wall, like it gives him some sort of privacy. _I just want to matter_.

**You do matter. You matter to me. You have immeasurable power, and you’ve begun to tap into it, but you need a way to showcase it.**

_And you can help with that._

**I can. It has been quite some time since I’ve had an apprentice, but I can.**

Ben swallows thickly. 

He should tell his Uncle. Now.

Instead, he quietly thinks, _Okay_.

-

It’s a secret he clutches close to his chest. He layers it behind walls and walls and walls in his mind, and if his uncle has even the slightest inkling that Ben is up to something, that Ben knows something that he doesn’t, then he doesn’t show his hand.

His uncle is busy, anyways, training up the young ones. He gives Ben and his friends more responsibility as well, easy tasks that apparently should be helping them hone their own skills even as they teach. It’s a lot, and it keeps him suitably busy, but there’s always time at night for him to slink into the shadows.

His absence eventually doesn’t go unnoticed, but his friends don’t confront him in the daytime. They wait until the night when he’s in the process of sneaking out to train and learn from Snoke once more. On the edge of the camp, just inside the brush that surrounds it, they crawl out of the shadows just as he’s about to start his warm up.

He'd known someone was there—something in his awareness had _prickled_, which he understands as him honing his skills—but he jumps all the same.

“You should be sleeping,” is what he’s told, but they don’t keep their distance. No, they come closer, curious, drawn by what on earth has Ben Solo awake and training apart from what his uncle—the greatest Jedi of all time—is teaching him. 

He’s not so sure he believes in the Jedi anymore. Not the way that history has written them to be. 

This is an opportunity he has to share this new way with his friends, but he’s not sure he wants to. It’s been nice having something that’s just for him, something that he doesn’t have to justify to others, something that he is a part of because he’s special.

Snoke whispers to his mind, **You will need people who are loyal to you, if you travel down this path.**

He is going to travel down this path. He will not let himself down.

He invites them in.

The group that he gathers in the shadows of the night grows quietly under his uncle’s nose, and while Snoke crows about it, it doesn’t give Ben the same pleasure. There’s something that twists inside of him even as he trains and grows stronger, and the doubts start to creep in. He wants to make a name for himself apart from his family, accolades that he’s earned for being _him_, not for being Han Solo and Leia Organa’s son, not for being Luke Skywalker’s nephew.

He wants to be known as who he is. But—who is he?

The answer comes more quickly than he expects in the dark of one of the nights that Snoke allows him to just rest during. He wakes to a green glow, to his uncle standing over him with his light sabre unsheathed, and it’s written all over Luke’s face how he is _enemy_.

He fights to live, to survive. He doesn’t mean for the destruction—but how could he be allowed home after the way he’s acted?

Maybe the words that Luke didn’t say are right.

Maybe this is the role he was meant to play.

He turns his back on the ruins of his uncle’s young Jedi academy, blocks out the screams and the whimpers, and walks away.

-

Ben’s not naïve at twenty-three. He knows that the information that Snoke chooses to give him is carefully chosen, carefully vetted for anything that may give him second thoughts. Ben doesn’t care; his name feels like it doesn’t belong to him the longer that he wears it on his shoulders. Thinking hurts, remembering hurts, and it’s easier to trust that Snoke has his best interests at heart even though even _that_ is not true.

Snoke has the best interests of the first order at heart. Ben is just a carefully placed cog in the machine. This is how he knows that, when Snoke summons him and says, “I have something important to tell you,” it is nothing but another manipulation, another screen.

Still, nothing could’ve prepared him for Snoke saying, “Darth Vader was your grandfather." 

Ben briefly stalls in his polishing of his lightsabre blade. It’s careful work, and he doesn’t want to accidentally impale his leg from shock. “Pardon?”

“Darth Vader was your grandfather. He was born as Anakin Skywalker.” 

Ben’s brow furrows. He’s known that his mother was adopted as a child for years—how else could she and Luke be twins and have different last names?—but he wasn’t aware that she was hiding _this_.

_It’s all a manipulation_, his quiet thoughts whisper. _There is more to this story than he is telling_.

Ben shakes his head slightly, resuming his polishing. “The man is long dead,” he says carefully. “And he failed, besides.”

“He is your legacy,” Snoke says. “He started a work that you will bring to completion.”

“Why did he fail?” Ben muses. He knows the stories, they all do, but Snoke talks as if he knows more. 

Ben’s picked up a few manipulating tricks of his own, in his years of training under the being. Snoke inclines his head, like he was just waiting for the opportunity. “He didn’t have enough time,” Snoke says, “and he put his faith in the wrong people.”

“I won’t,” Ben says. Hux straightens from where he stands guard at the door, back just a little bit stiffer, waiting to be called on. Ben ignores him for now. “I will be better than he was.”

“Of course you will be. Where he failed, you will succeed.” Snoke waves a hand then, and a helmet comes floating to Ben. _Vader’s_ helmet. “Anakin chose a new name when he came into himself. You must do the same before we start to execute this plan. You must give a name for the people to whisper in the shadows.”

“That won’t erase my family’s legacy,” Ben says quietly.

“Nobody will ever know. Ben Solo will disappear, and you will take his place." 

And Ben—Ben’s always had a complicated relationship with his name. It never fit quite right, always felt bigger than he could attain to, but now that he’s being told to do away with it he hesitates. His name is all that he has left of his mother and his father, and he doesn’t think of them often but when he does warmth courses through him and his heart grieves all over again. He doesn’t need them to know what he’s doing to know that he’s disappointed them. More than that, they will put together the clues soon enough.

He walks like his father, holds his chin high like his mother. They will know who he is before the rest of the galaxy can put together the clues.

They will know who Kylo Ren is when he starts to make his mark.

“Don’t worry,” Snoke says, raspy voice gentle and chasing shivers through Ben. “No one will call you Ben Solo ever again. Not unless they want to suffer.”

-

He is twenty-four, feeling like he might have finally found his place in this world (even if it still feels like standing on the edge, on the edge of a cliff that he’s not sure he wants to go over). His plan is about to come to full fruition, he is prepared to make his mark in history, and a voice cuts through the sounds of his creation to shout, “_BEN!_”

He hasn’t been called Ben in so long.


End file.
